


Sweetheart

by npc



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry Potter, BAMF Draco Malfoy, BAMF Harry Potter, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Healer Draco Malfoy, I don't want to give too much away, M/M, Minor Character Death, Past Harry Potter/others, Psychological Torture, Torture, a specific psychological disorder
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-19
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-04-24 22:49:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14365359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/npc/pseuds/npc
Summary: It has been almost a decade since the war. Draco Malfoy has made a career for himself as a Healer specializing in Dark-Art Treatment. He has, against all odds, made a life for himself that he loves, that he is proud of. And while being a Healer isn't easy, his days are enjoyably monotonous and relatively peaceful.That is, until Harry Potter shows up in front of his office.





	1. Chapter 1

Draco knew the second he saw Harry Potter fidgeting uncomfortably in front of his office door that the whole day was about to go to shit. He had just returned from a rather unsatisfactory lunch in the cafeteria and was determinedly blowing at the steaming cup of coffee in his hand when he turned the corner and found himself staring at the unmistakable shock of black hair.

Harry Potter was standing in front of his office door, garbed in the Auror’s dark maroon robes and shifting nervously from one foot to another. At Draco’s soft sound of surprise, Potter glances up and stepped forward hastily, faltering when Draco immediately stepped back.

“Mr Malfoy,” Potter began, in a deeper voice than Draco remembered as he furiously racked his brain for any reason that constituted a visit from Harry Potter the _Head Auror_.

Draco had stayed out of all news and tabloids since his trial, keeping a low profile and a safe distance away from any form of Dark Arts that wasn't related to his job. There was no reason for Potter to be standing in front of his office door after almost ten years and yet there he was. However, before, Draco could say anything, Potter continued: “There has been a situation with Pansy Parkinson, she is currently safe with the Aurors but she has asked for you as her contact person.” 

Draco felt as he had been doused with a bucket of ice water. Pansy. Something had happened to Pansy.

He was her contact person.

The only time Aurors reached out to a contact person was when a safe-house was needed and the contact person had to take care of all business and explanations of the victims absence from their usual routine. And despite Potters clear downplay of whatever _situation_ Pansy had been involved in, it had clearly been serious enough to not only involve the Aurors, but Harry bloody Potter himself.

While Pansy being in a safehouse meant she had at least not been hurt to the extant to warrant hospitalisation, it nevertheless still sent a shot of anxiety up his spine. After almost a decade, Draco had hoped that he had left the days of constant worrying about the lives of his friends and family behind him.

After the war, anyone who had previously even remotely aligned themselves as Voldemort sympathisers found themselves facing a constant public harassment that  eventually become so serious that it forced almost all who didn’t end up in Azkaban out of the country.

While Potters speech in favour of Draco's involvement at the Malfoy Manor prevented the Aurors from taking him to Azkaban, it did little to sway the public perception of those who had lost loved ones from the war.

And everyone had lost loved ones from the war.

As a result, Blaise, Pansy and Draco’s own mother had left hastily to various parts of Europe, to escape and to heal. Draco had been one of the very few that had stubbornly remained, telling his mother, _“England is my home and if I have to pay for what I did then so be it. But I’m not leaving.”_  

The first two years had been the hardest.

Determined to make a life for himself outside of the influence of his father, Draco sold off the Malfoy manor and moved into a small flat in Muggle London, unable to find a job or a place to live within the wizarding world.

After four months of fruitless searching, he finally swallowed his pride and reached out to  McGonagall who showed him far more sympathy than he knew he deserved, and allowed him to complete his NEWTs outside of Hogwarts under both her and Auror Kingsley's supervision. Once he had received the satisfactory results, he had began the arduous process of applying for a healer residency. 

He had seen too much too many deaths. Contributed to many more.

Healing became a way for him to repay for his part in the war, and while he knew it would never be enough, it was a start.

The residency application process had been every bit as humiliating and tenacious as he had expected, with Healers from multiple departments in St. Mungo's claiming that his application had somehow never been received, that he did not meet requirements (which was bullshit, Draco had gotten Exceeding Expectations in all of his courses) or that they had somehow simply received maximum capacity one week into the application process and thus couldn't possibly consider Draco. It was only two month later, when the head healer of the Dark Arts department, Healer Maharaj, took notice of Draco’s daily frequenting of St Mungo’s that he had finally landed an internship. 

 _“Someone I cared deeply for made a lot of mistakes in his youth,”_ Healer Maharaj had said to him after she had offered to interview him,  _“But he worked to redeem and redeem himself, and I can see the same desire in you Mr Malfoy.”_

She had sent him home after that, promising to look at his application.

Two days later, she had owled him to say that he had been accepted as a resident at the Dark Arts Healing Department with the chance to stay on permanently should everything go smoothly.

From that point on, Healer Maharaj had stood by him stoutly, insisting to all that Draco deserved the same opportunities as all other Healers-in-training at St. Mungo’s. And though Draco had initially despaired at being another disappointment, another failure, he worked hard for the past eight years, unwilling to let down the show of kindess Healer Maharaj had showed him, and climbed steadily to the position of Acting Head Healer, Healer Maharaj’s right hand man. 

He owed Payel Maharaj as much as he owed Harry Potter. 

It had actually been Draco’s persistent persuasion and his flourishing career that finally encouraged Pansy to move back to England two years ago, with Blaise visiting monthly shortly after. Despite this, they were still understandably wary and were careful to keep a low profile in the public eye to avoid the harassment that had driven them out in the first place. 

Though, evidently, not been careful enough.

“Take me to Pansy,” Draco demanded, ignoring how Potter tensed when he whipped his wand out of his robes.

He was neither offended nor suprised, at the reaction considering the relationship between them in Hogwarts was far from stellar. He pointed his wand at a corner of the bleak, white hospital wall and barked out an “ _Expecto Patronum!”_  

A sleek arctic fox shot out of the tip of his wand, landing lightly on the floor in front of him and settled there to wait patiently for instructions. Its silver eyes stared back up to Draco's as it blinked with a calmness Draco did not feel.

“Inform Healer Maharaj that I have been called away on urgent family matters.” He told the fox, not bothering to watch it immediately leap through the walls before turning to Potter who was standing there watching him with an inscrutable expression.

He inclined his head briefly at the Auror.

Potter had been polite with him so far, and Draco had no interest of being the one to ruin the civility with his former childhood enemy. He had learnt far too much, worked far too hard to regress now.

“Lead the way, Auror Potter.”

 

* * *

  

Draco did not bother attempting to recognize the room Potter had apparated them to; it was likely an unplottable safe-house that ensured the safety of its residence. Instead, he focused on the women in front of him, stepping away from Potter and towards Pansy, who had shakily risen to her feet upon hearing the sound of their apparation.

“Pansy,” he exhaled, reaching out to her the same time she barrelled into him, “Are you hurt? What happened?”

Draco noted that she was trembling slightly as she clutched him, muffling a sob in his shoulder. He pulled back to look at her, stroking her back gently.

“Pansy, dear, talk to me.”

She shook her head, attempting to bury her head back into Draco's arms before he could get a good look at her.

Holding her gently but firmly, Draco did a quick once over to ensure that she did not have any physical injuries. While Aurors rarely brought in contact people while the victim was still injured, Draco was taking no chances with his closest friend.

Pansy's normally sleek ponytail was nowhere to be seen, her face worryingly white with black smudges under her eyes that told Draco that she had been crying. His heart clenched.

"Pansy, love, please, tell me what happened." He implored as she buried herself back into his shoulder, feeling her frame shake against his. Behind him, he felt Potter move.

He shifted to look at the Auror, waiting for answers.

“Ms Parkinson was in Diagon Alley when she was hit with a _tardius suffocativum._  While the Auror who happened to find her managed to reverse the spell, the spellcaster was long gone by that time,” Potter said quietly, watching Draco with those unreadable eyes.

“we believe the caster was under a disillusionment spell during the time of the attack so as to escape attention. While Ms Parkinson will have no long term physical damages, her voice is still very weak from the attack.”

Draco’s grip on Pansy tightened.

He knew the spell.  _Tardius suffocativum_ was most commonly used for torture, the spell slowly squeezing the victims airways shut to make breathing completely agonizing.

It was a spell meant to harm rather than to kill and while it would become deadly if the victim was left unattended to, it typically had no adverse side-effects once the counter-spell had been cast within an appropriate timeframe. While this might explain the Aurors involvement, it still did not explain the presence of Harry Potter.

He turned his head to properly face Potter, eyes narrowing.

“While I appreciate what you have done Auror Potter, attacks on former Voldemort sympathisers have gone on for years. A slow suffocation spell would not have garnered the attention of the Head Auror himself, so, what are you not telling me?” Draco demanded, rubbing soothing circles on Pansy’s back as he felt her flinch at Voldermorts name.

A quick flash of emotion passed by on Potter’s face for the first time since he saw him standing in front of Draco’s office. Though the professionally detached Auror mask slipped only for a moment, Draco knew he saw something akin to remorse on the Auror’s face.

While Draco cared little for the pity being extended his way, he was begrudgingly impressed at Potters professionalism.

Potter had always been emotional and easy to read during their years in Hogwarts, in fact, it had been one of the reasons Draco had enjoyed tormenting him. He must have worked hard for the mask he now wore.

“Draco,” Pansy said with a whisper, interrupting whatever Potter had to say. As he looked down at her, she visibly gathered herself before stepping away from him, gently moving his hands back to his side.

He saw that her eyes, though while puffy and red from the crying, also had bags under them like she hadn’t gotten a good night's sleep in days. Draco frowned. Had he really been so busy that he had failed to check up on his friends wellbeing?

She pulled nervously at the blue blouse she was wearing, worrying its edges as she looked somewhere near his left ear.

“Draco, I haven’t been completely honest with you.”

Draco waited, willing himself to stay still, to let Pansy form her words instead of interrupting her and risk any misunderstandings. _God,_ Draco had noticed that something had been on Pansy’s mind for a while now, but he had assumed that she would eventually come around to talking with Draco about whatever it was.

He hadn’t thought it was be about anything serious, otherwise he would have pressed the issue a long time ago _._ Instead, he had believed it was something small that Pansy would eventually explain.

Clearly, he was just as naive as he was all those years ago, when he had believed in fathers lies, in Voldemort's cause.

Pansy opened her mouth as if to say something, before shutting it again and looking helplessly past him at Potter. 

“Mr Malfoy,” Potter said, green eyes flickering up to meet Draco’s increasingly frustrated grey ones. He was getting tired of having Potter explain everything.

“Ms Parkinson has been facing harassment for the past three months now, she notified the Aurors a while ago but we have reason to believe that the channels of commuinication was compromised at that point. Thus we have been unaware of the escalating harassment until now,” Potter paused, gazing earnestly at Draco.

“I am here to both apologize for the gross incompetence of the Auror department and offer her my full protection of Ms Parkinson as Chief Auror.”

 Draco stared unseeingly in his direction as hurt and anger warred for dominance at what he had just heard.

Anger because even now, after almost a decade since the war, they were still paying for a mistake they had made as uninformed, reckless children. Draco understood that he had to pay for the rest of his life. He had made peace with that. But how much longer did his friends have to pay? Friends that, while admittedly holding bad rhetoric and biased view, never participated even a fraction as much as Draco had in the rise of Voldermort.

However, anger was swiftly followed by hurt. Hurt because Pansy hadn't told him about this, had met him every weekend for lunch and never once mentioned this. Never once mentioned the harassment she had faced despite Draco being the one that convinced her to move back to Britain.

God, _Draco_ was the reason she was even dealing with all this.

Something must have shown on his face because Pansy reached out to take his face in her hands, forcing him to look down at her as she gazed fiercely up at him. 

“Draco, don’t you _dare_ blame yourself for this, you hear me? This is not your fault. I moved back because I had missed it terribly. So don’t you dare make this about you.”

Pansy's eyes flashed and her grip on his face tightened, likely to emphasis her point. And while Draco would later have a long conversation about friends looking out for each other, he shut his eyes, breathing in deeply as he wrestled his emotions under control.

Now was not the time for him to lash out, to wallow in self-pity.

Right now Pansy was suitably shaken up that she had requested for his support and he was going to give it to her. After a minute, he opened his eyes and reached up to cover one of her hands with his before gently moving it away from his face.

“We’ll talk about this later,” he tells her gently, “after the person doing all this is caught we can fight about about blame.” 

As much as Draco wanted to insist that Pany’s returning and subsequent harassment has everything to do with Draco’s own selfishness to have his loved ones return to the country, there were more pressing matters at hand. Frowning, he shifted his look back to Potter who had maintained a quiet and respectful distance throughout their whole interaction.

While Draco suspected that the larger reason for Potter's presence was the previously mentioned 'comprimised channels', Draco doubted very much that he would get any more information right now.

Instead, he chose to focus on the other issue.

“You said that some of the harassment were public. Nobody else reported them?” He asked Potter, already knowing the answer but nevertheless wanting to gauge the Auror's reaction.

A fleeting look of anger flashed on Potter’s face at the question, something Draco never thought he would find as reassuring as he did then. He had gotten the reaction that he had been hoping for.

Potter was famous for his need for justice and his somewhat idealistic notion of morality. Regardless of the past that they have shared, if Potter was upset about the situation, it was likely that something would be done about it. He was far to noble to leave it be.

“Unfortunately, nobody came forward as witnesses for today, nor did anybody report the clear harassment and attacks Mr Parkinson faced during her public outings.” Potter replied, jaws clenching briefly. "As Head Auror, I fully intend to address this issue with both the Ministry and the public immediately. It is unacceptable."

 Draco nodded, feeling a surge of satisfaction at the look of surprise in Potter’s eyes, who likely expected a bitter and heated argument about the injustice Pansy had faced or the war.

 _You’re not the only one who’s changed_ , Draco thought, gazing into those bright green eyes he had once hated so much. _I have too._

Draco had had years worth of time to systematically examine and dismantle much of the ideologies he had grown up with. He had been petty and cruel, he knew that now. But Potter likely still associated him with the memories he had of Draco as a mean, misguided teenager. Draco bit down an inappropriately timed smile.

Potter was in for a surprise if he continued thinking that way.

“And I trust you will be finding the person responsible for all of this?” he asks, just to be sure. 

“You both have my word,” Potter answered readily.

“Auror Weasley has been assigned to this case and will be arriving shortly to speak with Ms Parkinson. 

“Weasley?” Draco was unable to hide his surprise. Next to him, he felt Pansy move uneasily, similarly uncomfortable with the choice of Auror.

“As you had said, many have turned a blind eye to the harassment of former Voldemort sympathizers,” Potter said mildly, “Ms Parkinson, todays attack happened not just due to Auror incompetence but also public negligence stemming from personal biases. I am not willing to risk your safety again, so I have assigned Auror Weasley who will work your case while I remain secret-keeper of your safehouse's location. There is no one I trust more than him.”

Draco doubted that was all there was to it but he didn’t particularly fancy getting into an argument with him in front of an already mentally exhausted Pansy. He chose to stay quiet instead, deferring to Pansy.

“You’ve always had a good sense of what's right, Potter,” Pansy said in a raspy whisper, “I will trust your judgment on this.”

Potter’s face broke into a soft smile at that, and Draco inhaled sharply. It was the first clear emotion from Potter since he first saw him in front of his office and Draco had been resolutely ignoring just how much more attractive Potter now was in favour of worrying about Pansy's safety.

That is, up until now.

“Thank you, Ms Parkinson,” Potter said, acknowledging the compliment for the apology that they all knew it was. “We will let you know when the attacker has been found. For now, I’m afraid you will have to stay in this safehouse indefinitely and have all your visitors monitored.”

“I will stay with you tonight,” Draco added, turning to Pansy who scowled at that.“ I already informed Payel that I was taking me off and I had no other plans tonight anyways.”

 He grinned at how Pansy’s eyes narrowed at the obvious lie.

If she was readily scowling at him it meant that she was already returning to her exasperatingly stubborn self that Draco loved so dearly.

“I’m not an invalid Draco, I don’t need you to hold my hand through the night.”

Draco gave an exaggerated sniff, lifting an eyebrow as he stared haughtily at her, rolling his eyes. “Whoever said anything about hand holding, Ms Parkinson,” he teased, “I merely said I would grace you with my presence tonight, let's not get any ideas shall we?” 

He flashed her a wide, unrepentant grin.

She shoved at his shoulders.

“Fuck _off_ , you great big numpty.” She said as he grinned unrepentantly at her.

Next to them,Potter shifted uncomfortably.

"Er."

Draco turned to him, watching with concealed delight at how Potter appeared at a loss as to how to handle the situation. Draco had forgotten how much he had once enjoyed the focus of the other man. He remembered now. 

He did not know if it was a blessing or a curse that he would likely be spending the next few weeks if not months in close proximity to Potter, as Pansy's contact person.

“Don’t worry about Pansy here,” He told Potter seriously, forcing an impassive face. “She tends to project her own feelings of self-hatred of being a numpty onto others.” 

“ _Draco!”_  

Draco ducked from the throw pillow that was thrown his way, smiling in relief at the familiarity of their banter. Pansy was an ex-Slytherin through and through and Draco showing any signs of pity towards her would only result in a row. Better, instead, to give her a semblance of normalcy and let her come to Draco when she was ready to talk.

Now he just had to get Potter alone and get the truth out of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I hope that you've enjoyed the first chapter! This is my first Harry Potter fanfic and I'm incredibly excited! While I can't promise a rigid uploading schedule I will try my best to adhere to uploading every month/month and a half until I am done. Please comment and let me know if you liked it :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey!! I just finished my final exam of my undergraduate years and I was struck with the urge to finish this chapter! I'm sorry if there's some spelling errors in there, I re-read it but I'm sure I missed some anyways. I hope you enjoy and leave me a comment if you'd like!

 

Harry was perturbed to say the least.

He had gone to work that morning like every other day, greeted the other Aurors who were clustered around the coffee machine in the break room before reluctantly slinking into his office to the pile of paperworks waiting for him on his desk.

The advantage of being Head Auror, Harry had discovered shortly after taking the position two years ago, was that nobody nagged him to complete the obscene amount of paperwork that his position required him to do.

The disadvantage, Harry had unfortunately discovered almost as quickly, was that these obscene amount of paperwork was expected to be completed on the rare occasion that a case got transferred to the Unspeakables.

And if the Head Auror admitted to having procrastinated the related files, then said Head Auror would have the pleasure of having the head of the Unspeakables aka Hermione Granger personally dropping by his office to lecture (yell) at him for six straight hours.

Harry was a quick learner if not anything else.

After the first extraordinarily mortifying experience of having Hermione monitor his paperwork progress like he was a misbehaving child, Harry had been eager to avoid a repeat mistake. Now, he never left his paperworks for longer than two days.

Still, it didn’t mean he had to enjoy it.

Sighing, he reached for the closest stack of parchment and settled himself into his chair for a long morning of bureaucratic jargon. While the position of Head Auror permitted him a less life-threatening lifestyle, which definitely had its perks, the sharp increase in paperwork had not been something he had been particularly pleased to learn about. However, he was barely twenty minutes into reviewing a recent successful bust of human trafficking when he heard a rapid tapping of feet that grew louder by the second until Megumi Ito burst into his office. Harry jumped from his chair, staring alarmedly at the otherwise typically reserved Auror in front of him.

She appeared rattled, the neat bun of jet black hair Harry had come to associate with Ron's workforce partner unravelling behind her as she stared at him, visibly collecting herself.

“Auror Ito,” he said, going round his table and approaching her cautiously, “is everything alright?”

Harry felt a prickle of dread as the words left his mouth. The only person that Harry could think of that would garner such a panicked appearance from Auror Ito was her field partner, Ron. And while he was almost certain that Ron couldn't have possibly gotten hurt in the last twenty minutes since their shift had begun, it was still nevertheless a possibility. 

“Pansy Parkinson was just attacked with the suffocating charm in Diagon Alley, sir,” Megumi rushed out, and Harry blinked at her, taken aback.

“Ron had been on his way to work when he had found her there and reversed the spell. He was unable to find the spell-caster and none of the witnesses has stepped forward with information. Ron is with her in our office right now, we brought her to the ministry after Ms Parkinson told us she had consulted one of our team a while ago about this harassment but no actions had been taken.”

Harry frowned.

He had not heard the name Parkinson in years, had not even realized that she was still living in Britain.

After the war, many the public had wanted revenge, wanted penance for lives that had been lost. Almost all the surviving Death-Eaters were thrown into Azkaban, along with those who had been known to enthusiastically cooperate with Voldemort's cause within the ministry like Umbridge. Malfoy and Narcissa had almost joined the rest of them when Harry put his foot down and stormed into the ministry to defend him in his trial.

He would never forget Malfoy’s paper-white face, staring down at his hands with a dead expression as Harry hotly protested throwing eighteen year olds into prison.

Malfoy had made terrible mistakes, yes, but he was a _child_ who still had a chance to change.

The public hadn’t been too impressed with Harry’s actions but Harry didn’t care. He had his own problems to deal with.

After his defence of Draco Malfoy and his mother, he had retreated into Grimmauld place for almost a year, relearning his own identity outside of the boy-who-lived. He barely saw even Hermione and Ron outside of a handful of times they turned up unannounced for dinner .

It was during this time of his absence that the rest of the wizarding community quietly but detemindey pushed out all former Slytherins and families who had sympathized with Voldemort.

By the time a year had passed and Harry was ready to face the outside world again, the public had successfully almost completely eradicating current and former Slytherins from Britain. It would take years before the fourth Hogwarts table began being properly filled up again.

It would take another three before Harry could forgive himself for not speaking up sooner, doing more for the children sorted into Slytherin.

Whatever crimes Voldemort and his group had committed, they should never have had to bear it.

Regardless of what the public thought.

“Did you identify the Auror she consulted was?” Harry asked, running a hand through his hair in frustration as he ingested what the other Auror had told him. _God._ What good was an Auror in protecting civilians if they picked and choosed who they deemed worthy of Ministry protection?

Megumi shook her head apologetically and Harry flattened his mouth into a grim line.

Something was wrong. While the Auror department wasn't necessarily  _small_ , per se, it was still small enough that all active Aurors were easily identifiable by one another.

“Ms Parkinson described him as a short, thin man with balding black hair and a soft, reedy, voice.” Megumi said, pointing her wand into the air and muttering a quick _revelare._

A hazy picture, based on Parkinson’s description, forms, showing the said men wearing the standard Auror robes in dark maroon and walking with a slight slouch.

"He was also said to have deepset brown eyes and thin lips."

Harry cursed. There was no such man in his department as far as he knew, and yet the man in Megumi's _revelare_ was clearly wearing Auror robes. Robes that had been specifically created by the Unspeakables  to be unreplicatable by anyone other than the Unspeakables themselves.

This complicated matters much more.

“Polyjuice then?” he asks, referring to the balding man.

The chances of somebody going through the trouble of either acquiring or replicating an Auror's robe and then not disguising their identity was close to none.

Megumi nodded grimly.

“That's what Ron and I think too. Among petty hexes in public, Ms Parkinson has also been harrassed in the form of vandalism of both outdoor and indoor property despite having relatively strong wards, suggesting the perpetrator to be highly skilled.” The shorter Auror’s mouth turned downwards, letting Harry know exactly how she felt about the situation as she continued:

“Initially, Ms Parkinson did not report anything but when the public stinging hexes escalated into home vandalism three months ago she went to the nearest Auror on duty and complained. To no avail, as the Auror she had gone to was not one of ours.”

Harry felt his fists clench and composure slip, horrified at what he had just heard.

“ _Months?_ ” He hissed. “Parkinson has been dealing with this for months and none of the public thought to report witnessing harassment?!”

Megumi stepped back, watching him carefully through wary eyes and Harry takes a deep, calming breath. 

While the infiltration of the Auror department was a serious issue that would have otherwise gone unnoticed, the public should have done  _something._ Parkinson was attacked repeatedly in broad daylight for months and yet  _nobody_ called into the Aurors department to report the incident.

Almost a decade later and people were  _still_ paying for mistakes they made as children.

Harry offered Ron's field partner a brittle smile.

“Apologies, Megumi. I was merely shocked and disappointed at how long this has gone on without Auror detection. You said Ms Parkinson was with Ron, yes?” he waited for the nod of confirmation.

“I will see her immediately then.”

"Yes, Sir."

As Harry followed Megumi to where Parkinson was, worried about the potential Auror department infiltration and incensed the apparent lack the public concern about Parkinson being attacked, he briefly wondered how Ron was handling questioning a former classmate they had never been on particularly good terms with.

 

* * *

 

Ron, as Harry had quickly found out, had had an exceptionally uncomfortable time working with Parkinson.

Not, as it turned out, because she had been particularly difficult to work with. But rather because her overall subduedness appeared to highly baffle Ron who likely had expected a woman not dissimilar in demeanour to the loud girl that had been entirely too willing to give Harry up to Voldemort all those years ago.

It had been almost amusing going over the events leading up to today with them and watching his best mate stare perplexedly at Parkinson behind her back as she answered Harry’s questions softly and willingly, without an ounce of anger that Harry had expected her to righteously had over both the Auror department and the publics failure to her.

The entire thing had become a lot less amusing once Harry realized that this subdued resignation to her situation was likely due to years worth of public harassment and being treated as subpar for a decision she had made as a child.

Of course, that didn't take away from the fact that Parkinson had had some extremely prejudiced and racially charged views before and during the war. But nine and a half years was a long time.

Long enough, Harry believed, for someone to de-construct much of the indoctrinated biases they grew up with and properly examine the sort of person they are and the sort of person they wanted to become.

He knew this because he was going through the exact process himself.

After the war, Harry had taken a step back and examined his own biases towards Slytherins, towards purebloods. He had been so tired of people placing blame on others solely based on a single quality they possessed.

He had been so tired of participating. 

Harry watched as Parkinson dug around in her person for whatever it was they were looking for.

“Do you reckon this is connected to the Case-U, mate?” Ron asked him softly from where they huddled in the corner of the room. He was shuffling about files of active cases he was currently investigating.

While there were many things Harry did not miss about being an active Auror, working on cases was definitely not one of them. 

Appearing to find her target, Parkinson fished out what appeared to be a Muggle phone and began writing the address of her emergency contact on a separate piece of blank paper.

Harry gaped at her.

According to her, Parkinson had moved back two years ago by herself and had (to Harry’s slight surprise) been working at a clothing store in muggle London. While she had difficulty securing a job in the Wizarding world, she nevertheless refused to “live off my parents”. Upon saying this, Parkinson raised her head challengingly, as if daring Harry or Ron to comment on her interactions with the Muggle world.

They didn't.

Harry, for his part, had been rather pleased both at the challenge and at the fact that a former Death-Eater sympathiser had been working without an issue (for the Aurors would have heard about it otherwise) with Muggles, albeit as a last resort.

“Oi, mate?” Harry was jarred back to the present when Ron nudged him, staring questioningly at him.

“Hm? Oh, yes. No. I don’t know.” Harry admitted, frustrated as ever about the lack of leads in Case-U.

Casting a quick, nonverbal  _Muffliato_ just in case, he continued, “It’s still too early for us to confirm for sure but if Parkinson has indeed been harrassed and attacked for the last four months then that would have started right after Case U’s death.”

Ron nodded. “It’s coming up to the ten year mark of the war. Do you reckon somebody out there wants to off or at least hurt the remaining former Voldemort sympathisers?” He asked.

Harry shrugged grimly.

"Normally I wouldn't connect the two so early in the case, but the timing is a little too perfect and both victims have potential connections to a similar event. I have a hunch that they could be related."

Case-U referred to the death of Dolores Umbridge. She had been found dead in her Azkaban cell around four months ago in her bed, and while the case had initially been ruled as a natural death, examination by the Healers had revealed the rare _Dendrophylax lindenii_ poison in her system.

How somebody had gotten their hands on the ghost orchid flower to make the poison was particularly concerning given the flowers rarity and the fact that Azkaban was typically accessible only to Aurors.

This, along with Pansy’s description, meant that if the two were indeed linked, this man was either an Unspeakable, Auror or someone who had enough Ministry standing to be able to access Auror robes and highly classified poison without raising any sort of suspicion.

“If it is the same person doing this then the ten year mark likely has some significance like you said. You and Megumi should keep working on Case-U, talk to Hermione about possible leaks in the Unspeakables security." Pausing, Harry geared himself up to fire off rapid instructions:

"I’m opening a case for Parkinson and putting myself as the lead investigator and secretkeeper of the safehouse. I'm putting your name down as investigator though, I don't want the Aurors knowing I'm personally attending this case if we have a leak in our department”

Head Aurors rarely entered the field and when they did, it was often to investigate something extremely serious. If word got out that Harry was the lead investigator, it would likely garner alot of media coverage and potentially scare off the perpetrator.

Rons eyes widened slightly.

“Shit,” he said quietly, “You’re willingly gonna guard Parkinson?”

 “I’m sure we’re all different from our Hogwarts days, it won’t be that bad, Ron.” Harry protested. Harry hoped.

Before Ron could respond, Parkinson stood up with her hand outstretched, clutching what Harry assumed was the address of her emergency contact person.

Harry arranged his face into what he hoped was a soothing smile.

Regardless of whether todays attack and Case-U was related, there was no need to scare Parkinson with muffliato'd whispering. 

Striding forward for the piece of paper, Harry nodded in Ron’s direction.

“Auror Weasley will stay with you to ensure your safety until I bring your contact person back. As I said before, since you will be staying here for an indefinite amount of time, your contact person, Mr er—” Harry glanced down at the parchment containing the name of Parkinson’s contact before double taking and freezing, a lump in his throat.

A soft, almost amused, sound escaped Parkinson.

“Mr Malfoy.” she supplied helpfully, right lip twitching ever so slightly as she regarded Harry’s floundering.

Abruptly shutting his mouth and pointedly ignoring Ron who was practically _vibrating_ behind Harry, he cleared his throat and scrambled for any semblance of professionalism.

“Er, yes, Mr Malfoy. He will be the the only person allowed to know your exact whereabouts until the Auror department deems it’s safe for you to leave the safe house.”

Parkinson nodded solemnly.

“I trust Draco to take care of things.” She said simply and _fuck_ Harry was so stupid for not realising sooner that Pansy and Draco likely still kept in touch and that he was still in London doing, _bloody hell_ , some form of healing profession according to the St. Mungos address.

While Harry stood by his belief that former Voldemort sympathisers could change, and his choice to defend Malfoy’s family during their trial, Harry would have been perfectly happy spending the rest of his life not knowing exactly where or what the Malfoys were doing these days.

But of course he had gone ahead and volunteered to be Parkinson’s chief investigator and safe house secret keeper. Which meant that he would likely be around Malfoy a whole lot more than he had ever wanted.

“Well, Auror Potter,” Ron said, doing a fairly good job of keeping a straight face if not for the ways his eyes were shining like Christmas had come early. “Go on then, I will be here with Ms Parkinson ‘til your return.”

Gritting his teeth and forcing a brittle smile, he turned and strolled towards the Floo, studiously ignoring Ron and barked out “St Mungo's!”

The last thing he saw was Ron angling his face out of Parkinsons view to mouth “ _It won’t be that bad, Ron.”_ at Harry.

The fucking wanker.

 

* * *

 

Harry was fairly certain that he was in the right place. Parkinson's parchment certainly indicated that he was in the right place. As did the gold lettered sign: _Draco Malfoy—Assistant Head, Dark Arts Healing._

Yet the irony of it all had Harry just slightly convinced that he was stuck in a very bad-humoured dream.

Bloody hell, had Malfoy been in St. Mungo's this whole time? How had Harry not run into him every in the past nine years? While his need to come to the hospital had admittedly dwindled significantly since he took on Head Auror, there had been at least five solid years where he could be found in St Mungo's on a monthly basis. Had Malfoy been avoiding him without his knowledge?

Alongside with feeling stunned as to how Malfoy’s employment had slipped Harry’s knowledge, he was also fairly impressed at how his former nemesis had climbed his way up to Assistant Head.

It would have been no easy feat, Harry knew, particularly given the extreme prejudices against the remaining ex-Slytherins the London wizarding world had.

Shifting his weight slightly, Harry fought down the urge to pace up and down the hall as he waited for Malfoy to return from lunch break. The receptionist had appeared rather understandably taken aback when Harry had showed up unscathed in the Floo and asked for “Healer Malfoy’s office.”

The receptionist had informed him that Harry had arrived right after the Healers lunch break and Malfoy was likely still making his way back and _god_ Harry doesn’t want to be here right now. Still, he had a job to do and he had promised Parkinson the Auror protection that should have been provided to her in the first place.

He wasn’t about to let an old high-school rivalry get in the way of his job.

Before Harry could contemplate any further, his thoughts was interrupted by a sharp intake of breath on his left. Straightening up quickly, Harry hastily turned towards the sound and found himself face to face with a man he hadn’t seen in almost a decade.

Malfoy was slightly taller than he remembered, wearing dark blue Healer robes and holding a cup in his left hand that he appeared to have had been blowing on.

His hair was pulled back into a rather messy bun, with pieces falling into his face in an effortlessly graceful way that made Harry instantly jealous. Surprised grey eyes met his, and Malfoys mouth fell open and formed a tiny _oh_.

Apparently, during the near decade that Harry hadn’t seen him, Malfoy had grown into his height, appearing lean and elegant in ways he hadn’t at eighteen years old.

Apparently, in the near decade, Malfoy got _hot._

Fuck.

Harry stepped forward hastily,  intending to shake hands, to nod, to do _something,_ but Malfoy immediately moved back, eyes darting warily to watch him as if he was a predator.

Harry stopped, quickly opting for a different approach.

Malfoy was understandably surprised and likely distressed as his presence in full Auror regalia.

Unlike Harry who knew who he was meeting, Malfoy had merely been going about his day when Harry showed up and with the news that he brought with him, he didn’t want to stress Malfoy out any more than he had to.

“Mr Malfoy,” he said, and _ooh_ that was weird. Malfoy likely felt the same way if the brief flash of emotion on his face was anything to go by.

“There has been a situation with Pansy Parkinson, she is currently safe with the Aurors but she has asked for you as her contact person.”

That was a brief enough summary to cover the urgency of the matter while not giving away anything Harry didn’t want to about the case. He silently held a breath and Malfoy’s face shuttered at the news. While Harry felt like he was about to burst from nervous, pent-up energy, he waited quietly as the Healer processed the information, his blank face giving away away to Harry.

After a few seconds, Malfoy appeared to visibly collect himself.

“Take me to Pansy,” he instructed, and Harry fought down the instinctive bristling at the idea of being bossed around by Malfoy.

Despite working hard at maintaining a professional exterior to the rest of the world, a single demand from Malfoy could apparently reduce him to eighteen years old again. He stiffened slightly in alarm when Draco pulled out his wand, though he instantly felt guilty when all the Healer did was cast _Expecto Patronum._

Feeling rather chastened at his immediate reaction, Harry observed as Malfoy gave the snow-white fox a series of instructions. He wondered when Malfoy had mastered that spell. It was a beautiful animal, but for someone surrounded by almost as much death as Harry had been, particularly after the war, it probably had been no easy feat.

Assistant Healer and an Arctic fox. Harry had barely spoken to Malfoy and yet he could already see that the other man had worked hard in rebuilding a life of himself outside of his family’s prejudices.

Pride rose, unbidden in Harry and despite having dreaded seeing his former nemesis just a few minutes ago, Harry was now so fiercely thankful that Malfoy had gotten the second chance that he did.

The fox barely had time to leap away before Malfoy was turning to face Harry again and, to his surprise, dipped his head in Harry’s direction.

“Lead the way Auror Potter.” he said, and though those silver eyes were still wary, Harry thought he could see traces of curiosity laced through them as well.

Briefly nodding back, Harry set off to the nearest Floo in St. Mungo’s.

All in all, it was a rather extraordinary day.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm SO excited to develop Harry and Draco's relationship, it's super important to me that their personalities and interaction reflect the level of maturity they're now at given all the stuff they've been through, but at the same time I still want them to still be playful, caring, and just sometimes, immature. Does that make sense? Idk but thank you for giving your time and reading this <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I edited the previous two chapters and added just a couple more details that I felt was missing :) I think it flows a bit better now.

“As I have said before, Malfoy, I can’t give you any more information than that as of right now.” Potter said, not even bothering to look up when Draco had climbed out of the fireplace and started immediately demanding new details on the case.

 Grumbling to himself, Draco shot a half-hearted scowl in Potters direction.

He could have at least looked up. Prat.  
  
Potter was sitting in a cosy, if not a bit squashed, black armchair at front of the window with a cup of coffee in his hand, leisurely perusing the Quibbler. While the man had initially attempted to keep up with professional clothing during the first few days Draco dropped by, he had quickly given up on his Auror robes and now chose to lounge around in his pyjamas whenever Draco showed up in the mornings.

Today, he was wearing an old grey shirt, black joggers that scrunched at his ankles and mismatched socks in black and orange.

It was horrifyingly endearing.

“Why not?” Draco demanded snottily, knowing full well that that would be the thirteenth time he had asked that exact question and that it would be the thirteenth time Potter sighs and tiredly reply:  
  
“Because, Malfoy, you are not the Auror who has been assigned to Ms Parkinsons case. You are a civilian and any information can very well jeopardize this investigation,” Potter stood, glaring impatiently at him.

“I’ve told you already. Fourteen times. Must we do this every day?”

“Thirteen.”

Potter blinked at him, clearly thrown off whatever rant he was about to unleash on Draco. “What?” He asked.

“You’ve told me this thirteen times, not fourteen.” Draco informed him, feeling increasingly juvenile under Potter’s incredulous stare.

" _Fine!_ Fourteen!" The Auror said exasperatedly. 

For all the maturing that Draco has had over the last decade, being around Potter for two weeks had reduced them to the same verbal jabbing and arguments that the two boys had engaged in back in Hogwarts, if not a milder version of it.

With Draco’s shift beginning at the ungodly hour of seven am, and Pansy still fast asleep in her room, Draco had quickly learnt to exploit Potter’s surprisingly early morning starts to harass the Auror for more information.

Of course, this meant that he was spending far more time than he had ever bargained for with his former nemesis. But besides from dropping the ‘Mr’ at the beginning of his surname the former Gryffindor remained remarkably stubborn to every single one of Draco’s attempts for the past two weeks, much to his growing irritation.  
  
Still, Draco watched with no small amount of satisfaction as Potter huffily got up from his seat and quietly stomped into the kitchen.

Potter had initially regarded Draco with some sort of awkward professionalism, speaking to him in stilted conversation and guarded eyes. And while Potters newfound professionalism and general aloofness may have impressed Draco at first, it had quickly become unbelievably aggravating after the surprise wore off.  
  
Draco had been used to reading Potter’s expressions like a book, and the absence of that ability had left him quite off kilter.  
  
Thankfully Potter’s awkward attempt at detached professionalism faded quickly with each of Draco’s returning visits and until the it eventually melted into more genuine, if not slightly begrudging, conversations and snark. Weasley too, was appearing to grow increasingly awkward around Draco when they both happened to be visiting the safe-house, and while Draco could tell that the former Gryffindors were still unsure of how to act at times, they were clearly making an attempt to be more genuine.  
  
It was enough for Draco.  
  
Though he was eager to not return to the highly antagonistic high-school relationship he had had with Potter, he also had no desire to participate in any forced politeness.

Nor was he impressed by the charade the Aurors had going about the details of Pansy’s case.  
  
According to Potter, Pansy was under Auror protection because the perpetrator was still at large and the Aurors didn’t want to take any chances, particularly with an unreliable public who had a tendency to look the other way when Pansy was attacked.  
  
While Draco was sure that it likely was part of the reason, nobody was fooled into thinking it was the entire explanation. Even Pansy agreed that the reasoning was a pile of horse dung though she was far less inclined than Draco in getting the truth out of Potter, and had snapped “ For God’s sakes Draco, this is like Hogwarts all over again. Stop harassing Potter and just let him do his job.If you want his attention so much there are better ways about it.”  
  
Draco personally resented the implication that he was doing this to be noticed by Potter.

While the Head Auror _was_ relatively attractive, his concern towards the case was definitely entirely due to his interest in not being lied to on a case that one of his closest friends safety was dependant on.  
  
Definitely.  
  
The fact that by demanding more information meant bothering the Head Auror in question was merely a happy coincidence.  
  
Nodding to himself, Draco trailed after Potter into the kitchen and watched the other man pour out a second cup of coffee for Draco before likely moving to stand by the window where he would allow himself be bothered by questions for half an hour before Draco finally had to leave.  
  
It had become routine for the two of them at this point and Draco found Potter’s begrudging shows of hospitality towards someone so clearly harassing him rather hysterical and endearing.  
  
Particularly when the first time Potter offered him a cup of coffee, he had shoved the cup into Draco’s surprised hands so abruptly that it resulted in most of the hot liquid getting onto his Healer robes.  
  
Potter had spent the next fifteen minutes apologizing, despite the robes being easily cleaned by a wave of his hand.  
  
“What are you not telling us about the compromised communication channels and the Auror Pansy went to three months ago?” Draco asked, accepting his coffee. “Thank you,” he added, inhaling deeply, taking in the coffee’s fresh aroma.  
  
With Draco still suffering from occasional nightmare that tended to increase significantly in frequency in spring, when Voldemort had full control of the British wizarding world, coffee was an absolute essential in his morning routines if he wanted to make it through his shift at St. Mungo’s during this time of year.  
  
It was February now and even so many years, Draco was still waking up from dreams of _crucio_ and _avada kedavra_. 

Draco was afraid it would never stop.  
  
“I’ve told you this before already, Malfoy.” Potter said, moving —to Draco’s surprise—not to the window but instead to the cupboards where he pulled out two plates. “ I can’t release any more information than I already have."

Potter glanced sternly in his direction upon hearing Draco's soft snort.

"We are already working on the public's lack of response to blatant harassment and attacks on fellow citizens and you have my word that when we do catch the man who attacked Ms Parkinson, you two will be the first to hear about it.”

Potter extricated his wand from the pockets of his joggers and pointed at the covered pans on the stove which obediently dumped its contents onto the two plates. Draco stared as the plates of sausages and eggs flew over to rest on opposite sides of the wooden kitchen table. 

Maybe he was expecting company soon.  
  
“And you really won’t tell us any more about it even though we all know this isn’t all there is to it?” Draco asked fully anticipating Potter to either snap at him or begin a snarky banter like he had been doing for the past two weeks.  
  
To his surprise, however, Potter’s face softened as he turned to gaze at Draco with something startling close to fondness. Draco swallowed.

He must have misinterpreted Potter’s look. While the Aurors were clearing warming up to him and giving him a genuine chance to prove he was different, fondness towards Draco was impossible.  
  
“No, I’m afraid I wont, Malfoy.” Potter said, the side of of his mouth quirking up as they regarded each other. He appeared to hesitate slightly, before continuing with a forcedly nonchalant, “Now that we’ve gotten all that out of the way, would you like some breakfast before your shift?”

Draco stared blankly, sure that he had misheard what the other man had just said because there was no way that Potter had made breakfast and then willingly invite Draco to join in on it. Despite all the time Draco had been spending in the safe house, he had yet to have dined with Pansy and Potter there, always leaving or coming right after the times for breakfast and dinner.  
  
As he continued to watch in surprise silence, Potter’s smile faltered.  
  
“Er, Malfoy?” He asked, green eyes clouding with an uncertainty Draco hadn’t had expected. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, I just thought since your shift began so early you would like some sustenance but if you’ve already had a proper breakfast or have plans for later I won’t be offended whatsoever if you say no—”  
  
Potter was _babbling_ , Draco realized, with growing delight. Potter was nervous about Draco’s silence and was now babbling as overcompensation for the silence between them.  
  
“Potter,” he said, interrupting the steady stream of increasingly rapid words flowing out of the other man’s mouth, “I only have twenty minutes before my shift but yes, I’d be happy to join you for breakfast”  
  
Exhaling, Potter grinned sheepishly.

"I was worried you'd laugh at me." He confessed as they sat down across from each other.

Draco paused in his survey of Potters cooking to stare at the frankly ridiculous man in front of him.

"Laugh?" he repeated, "I know I was a prat when I was younger, Potter, but I'd like to think I've grown out of unnecessarily cruel behaviour, no?"

Potter nodded quickly, seeming eager to agree.

"No, no, I know, but. It's still a bit weird sometimes, y'know? Us having a normal conversation like this. I mean, who knew we were even capable of that?" 

Draco could understand the sentiment.

Who knew, even two weeks ago, that he would holding civil conversations with Harry Potter on a daily basis?

Who knew that he would be sitting at a kitchen table having breakfast with Harry Potter himself?

Who knew indeed

 

* * *

  
Harry was in so much trouble.

While he had not expected guarding Parkinson while working her case to be an easy task, he definitely had not expected the problem that was Draco Malfoy.  
  
Not that Malfoy had been the type of problem that Harry had thought he might have been to be when he first found out that Parkinson’s contact person was the Healer. Sure, he could do without Malfoy’s constant pestering for more details on what he knew were classified information that Harry couldn’t share with a citizen, but Harry would have done the same thing in his position.  
  
Malfoy’s closest friend had been harassed and hurt without his knowledge, it was understandable that he was going to want more answers than the heavily-annotated bureaucratic ones that Harry could provide him. Harry understood that.  
  
No, Malfoy was a problem in just how much of a problem he wasn’t.  
  
In the two weeks that Harry had been guarding Pansy and working on her case, Malfoy had been dropping by every single day without a fail to check in on his friend. This forced him to spend quite a bit of time with the blonde, given that the safehouse was a rather small apartment with only two bedrooms. And while Harry was and always will be a strong believer that people could change, he admittedly did not expect such a drastic one in Draco Malfoy.  
  
During the first few days of forced proximity with Malfoy, Harry had realized that despite all his work in pushing past the biased he had against Slytherins, he had still subconsciously expected Malfoy show at least some remnants that pointed him to the same cruel, insufferable prat that he had been back at Hogwarts.  
  
Instead, Harry had found out Malfoy was rather the opposite.  
  
This Malfoy was significantly calmer, more openly gentle and friendlier than Harry had ever expected. Sure, he still had his moments of being a giant git but didn’t everyone? Even when he snapped at Harry or demanded for information in a self-pompous tone reminiscent of their younger days, Malfoy never actually pushed Harry too far and always left him alone when Harry was clearly in a mood, frustrated from the lack of leads in his cases.  
  
He also openly showed affection and concern for Pansy in front of whoever was around them, be it Megumi, Harry or even Ron when he stopped by to update Harry.

The Malfoy that Harry knew back in his Hogwarts years wouldn't have been caught dead showing any form of positive emotion in front of Harry, much less affection.

And while Malfoy was still clearly on guard around the Aurors, he nevertheless spoke to them with what seemed to be a genuine interest in their work that left Ron staring flabbergasted at Harry more than once.  
  
Malfoy was, as far as Harry could tell, a genuinely nice bloke.  
  
One that Harry felt rather helplessly attracted to.  

Malfoy had always been a relatively attractive person, even back during their Hogwarts days, when the blonde would slick his hair back with what must had been a disgusting amount of sticking charms.

Now, even under the Healer robes that he was currently wearing, it was easy to see just how much Malfoy had filled out on his shoulders and arms, looking gracefully slender and unbelievably fit as opposed to the skinny twat he had been before. Malfoy’s hair was not always pulled into a bun, away from his face, and Harry itched to run his fingers through it, unravelling the hair and the man it belonged to.

It didn’t help that it was painfully clear to Harry, the amount of time and energy Malfoy must have put in to actively improve himself for the past few years.

Gone was the discriminatory prat that Harry remembered, quick to blame everything on the muggle-born wizards. 

Harry regularly overheard Malfoy happily chatting with Pansy about the latest movie, the Muggle news and even the Muggle Pansy had been flirting with at her job. When Malfoy dropped by on the weekends, he was even dressed in Muggle clothes, claiming that they were “Far more comfortable than the stuffy old robes could ever be.”  
  
The first saturday when Malfoy showed up in a form fitting charcoal-black coat with a simple white dress-shirt and black trousers peeking out from underneath, Harry had gaped at him until Malfoy had asked if he was alright. Parkinson merely smirked at Harry behind Malfoy’s back and waggled her eyebrows suggestively until Harry had flushed and looked away.  
  
The former slytherin was so disarmingly different and _nice_ that if Harry had met him under any other circumstances, he would have likely asked him out for coffee before shagging him stupid.  
  
And therein, lay the problem.  
  
Malfoy was Parkinson’s contact person, and Harry was the Auror in charge of her case for god’s sake. It was completely against protocol to even harbour interest towards any person under the Auror’s care. There was so much room for abuse in such an uneven power balance and the last thing Harry wanted to do was to ruin the weird not-friends-but-getting-there relationship he had with Parkinson and Malfoy.  
  
Besides, he didn’t even know if Malfoy was even interested in men, much less Harry.  
  
They had a good relationship going. Tentative, but good, and Harry had learned far too much since he was eighteen to begin being impulsive now.  
  
No matter how much he wanted to be.  
  
No matter that the last time he felt this interested in someone, had been Ginny all those years ago. It was rare for Harry to be so captivated by someone and of course it would be Malfoy, the contact person of the case he had been assigned to.  
  
Though, he supposed that he had always been captivated by the actions of Draco Malfoy, for one reason or another since his Hogwarts days.  
  
Groaning, he put down the Quibbler he had been pretending to read for the past hour and glanced at the clock, ignoring Parkinson’s inquiring glance from where she had been glued to the Muggle telly. Ten-thirty. Ron was likely dropping by soon to talk about the case with him and Harry was still in his pyjamas.  
  
“I’ll be working now,” he told Parkinson who waved a distracted hand back at him in acknowledgment. She was apparently was reaching a climactic scene in whatever show she was now marathoning. Something about an American Sherlock Holmes.

“Let me know if you need anything or if anything happens, yea?”  
  
Parkinson nodded flashing him a lazy salute of acknowledgment, and Harry made his way to his office/bedroom where he and Ron would pore over the details of both Pansy and Umbridge's case. The entire place was soundproofed with Muffliato and had private wards that only allowed for Harry and Ron, unless Harry explicitly approved of another individual.  
  
After consulting Hermione who told them that no Auror uniforms had been reported as missing within the Unspeakables department, they were convinced that there was a mole in the ministry.

All Aurors was given a single set of robes that they had to wear on the job and return once they quit the position. And as far as Harry was aware, none of his Aurors had missing robes which meant that it was likely an Unspeakable who either supplied or stole the robe Parkinson had seen on the man claiming to be an Auror.  
  
Moles in the ministry had not occurred since during the war and Harry had to tread lightly in levying accusation.

If the information went public, it would likely cause a huge scandal and there would be no hope of catching the perpetrator at all. So, for now, The only ones involved with the case that knew the details were Harry, Hermione, Ron and Megumi who had been at the scene for Parkinson's case.  
  
Settling himself into his chair, Harry got comfortable as he waited for Ron’s arrival.  
  
They would get to the bottom of this.  
  
He would make sure of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it! Please leave me a comment down below if you want, I'd love to know what you thought :)


	4. Chapter 4

Draco stumbled out of his Floo, not bothering to even remove his thick pea-coat before he collapsed onto the soft white rug covering his hearth. He had spent over eighteen hours at St. Mungo’s working overtime, and was completely exhausted.

The morning had started off like any other, Draco had woken up at quarter-to-six, quickly gotten dressed and ready for the day before floo-ing over to the safe-house where Potter was already waiting for him expectantly, a Muggle spatula in hand.

Potter had taken to cooking for Draco every morning since the first time they ate together a week ago. And though Draco had initially tried protesting that he had contributed approximately nothing despite Potter always cooking for him, the Gryffindor had merely waved it away saying: “I enjoy cooking for people, Malfoy. And you’re always at work so early that you probably don’t have time to eat so it’s a win-win. Stop complaining and eat.”

Draco had then spent the subsequent hour half-heartedly asking Potter about Pany’s case as they ate. While he no longer actually expected the other man to cave, he still attempted some form of pestering these days just for the sake of being annoying.

He would have given up completely had it not been for Pansy’s complaint a few days earlier about how Draco’s need for Potter’s constant attention in the morning was disturbing her sleep and giving her nightmares.

 Since then, he had taken to the pestering in increasing volumes but with otherwise decreasing interest, much to Potter’s bemusement and Pansy’s annoyance.

 “You do know that we don’t have to just talk about the case to enjoy each others company?” Potter asked, shovelling food into his mouth. He unaware of Draco’s and Pansy’s conversation but was clearly picking up on Draco’s decreasing investment in pestering him.

 Draco eyed Potter disdainfully.

 “I know.” He said, ignoring the rush of pleasure at Potter’s admittance of _enjoying his company._

 “Good. I just wanted to clarify that. You know, in case you wanted to talk about something other than the going into the same circles we’ve been in for the last few weeks.”

 “We wouldn’t have gone in circles if you had just told me what I wanted to know, Potter.” He pointed out patiently.

 Potter huffed out a laugh and lightly kicked at Draco’s feet, causing Draco to start in surprise.

 “Oh for fuck sake Malfoy. You know what I mean” he said, and even Draco could not deny the affectionate tone that Potters voice has taken when talking to him.

 He felt a small grin tug at the corner of his mouth as he surveyed the man across from.

 Potter was once again in his casual Muggle clothes, this time a matching soft worn grey set that clung to his frame, accentuating his shoulders and contrasting beautifully with his darker skin.

 “You know, I really will tell you if I think Pansy will be in more danger,” Potter told him seriously. He stared at Draco earnestly. “And even then, I will do everything I can to keep her safe. I promise.”

 Draco sighed softly. If he had learnt anything about Potter over the past few weeks, it was that he was unbearably sincere in the promises he made.

 When Draco was younger, he had thought Potters brazen convictions was borne out of  careless confidence fueled by an inflated sense of ego. Now, he realized it was simply Potter’s  pure earnestness and determination in protecting what he believed in.

 “I know.” Draco admitted softly. And the admission to his misconceptions, to his younger biasness of Potter cost nothing. Not when Potter’s, _Harry’s,_ face broke out into such a blinding smile.

 Draco smiled back at him, nudging softly at the foot that still rested against his.

 It appeared that after a decade of growth and three weeks of proximity, he and his former nemesis were _friends._

 Breakfast after that was a quiet affair. They had quickly polished off their plates in companionable silence (today’s menu was pancakes and bacon, and it tasted almost as good as Potters light flush looked when Draco complimented his cooking), and Harry bade him goodbye.

 “You’ll drop by later?” The Auror had asked him, somewhat hopefully. Draco laughed.

 He was well aware of Harry’s growing restlessness at being stuck in a safe-house for so long, something that Pansy complained about frequently to him.

 (Pansy on the other hand, was _thriving,_ finally having time to catch up on all the Muggle telly that “imperative to my well-being, Draco, don’t laugh.”)

 “I’ll try.” He said, grabbing a pinch of Floo powder before stepping into the fireplace. “No promises, though.”

 Draco had then arrived the hospital at precisely 7 o’clock, happily caffeinated and pleasantly full, and was halfway through his first round of inspections when he was called to the Intensive Care Unit.

 The paging was for a little boy suffering from necrotization from a cursed object. Draco let out a soft curse. Children were far more delicate and thus susceptible to the Dark Arts, requiring much more  finessing than their adult counterparts. Their smaller and maturing bodies also meant that the Dark Arts had an unpredictable effect on them.

 It was always the children that hit Draco the hardest in times when they were unable to reverse the Dark Arts effects or save the child.

 As he rushed to the scene to the scene, one of the Healers from his greeted him at the doors. He nodded quickly at her.

 “Healer Zhang.”

 “Healer Malfoy.” She greeted.

 “Do they have the object responsible?” Draco asked, casting a quick sanitizing spell on himself right before they burst through the of the ICU. Next to him he saw Healer Zhang do the same.

 “No, Sir, but the Aurors are said to be arriving to the scene of first contact shortly and will be confiscating the item for us once they do.”

 Draco nodded. “You and your team will conduct the diagnostics on the object when it does. I’ll join you after I’ve stabilized the patient. ” He instructed. “Has Healer Davis been sent for?”

 Healer Zhang nodded quickly.

 “Yes she’s currently in there right now.”

 “Good. Take your team and begin hypothesizing. If we do this right, there is a chance for reversal.”

 The patient was a little boy with a mop of chocolate brown hair and flushed cheeks, face screwed up in pain as he lay unconscious on a hospitable bed in the center of the room where three other Healers were swarming, running diagnostics with their wands.

 The boys feet and hands had already turned a deathly black and dark yellow, and the necrosis no doubt would have been steadily climbing up his wrists and legs right in front of Draco’s eyes if not for the stasis charm cast on the boy.

 “What’s the rundown?” Draco asked as the others made space for him at the boy’s side.

 Apparently, the boy’s father had somehow seen it fitting to bring the child to Knockturn Alley, where he had been ‘shopping around’, when five year old Callum accidentally got his hands on a small gold locket that apparently immediately cursed whoever held it with necrotization.

 Fortunately for Callum, the father had managed to Apparate Callum almost immediately to St. Mungos after his initial contact with the Dark-Art object, which meant that, with the correct expertise, the child had a shot at having his condition fully reversed.

 Being the best at Dark-Art reversals, and a child’s life on the line, Draco had  refused to hand off the case to anyone else with less experience.With the statis charm only being effective for six hours at the very most, they had to work quickly to save the boy’s life.

 And they did.

 In the end, they were successful in fully reversing the necrotization on the boy’s body, and though he would still remain in the Intensive Care Unit for the night for monitoring before being transferred to their wards, he would be making a full recovery within two weeks.

 It had taken longer than Draco had hoped. They finally reached a breakthrough around hour seven, when the stasis charm no longer worked and the necrotization had spread to the boys legs and shoulders, when Draco recognized the object that the Aurors had confiscated a type of virulent locket.

 With Dark Art Reversals and often times, healing, it was imperative for Healers to identify the specific strain of curse that the patient had come into contact with. Strong Dark Art objects rarely responded to generalized healing and unless Healers determined the specificity of its curse, it would simply continue whatever harm the creator intended for it inflict on its victims.

 Once Draco’s team successfully identified the object and its curse, they had set about halting and reversing the effects which was a process as difficult and even more delicate than identification of the curse itself. Any mistakes in incantation or wand movement would result in unpredictable reactions on the boys body.

 Nevertheless, in the end, Draco and Healer Davis managed to successfully reverse Callum’s condition, much to everyone's relief.

 The father, had had a lot of answering to do, and was still being monitored by the Aurors when Draco had delivered him the good news. Next to him, the woman who Draco assumed was the mother, burst into tears when Draco informed her that her son was going to live with no lasting injury. She had rushed into the hospital in the middle of the Aurors interrogation and identified herself as Callum's mother had screamed at her husband so much that even with the Auror’s silencing charm could not completely hold her wrath.

 After hearing Draco’s words she rushed towards Draco in a sweeping hug, sobbing into his chest whilst he gingerly comforted her.

 It was well after midnight when Draco finally could return home, slipping out as the Aurors took Callum’s father back to the ministry for further interrogations for his involvement with the Dark Arts,

 It frustrated Draco to no end that while former-Slytherins were still under heavy government scrutiny for any involvement with the Dark-Arts, no attention was paid to the actual Dark-Arts community, which was thriving more than ever.

 Callums father had been, despite his incredibly idiotic actions, a Ravenclaw at Hogwarts and was apparently known for frequenting knockturn Alley. And yet he had received no Auror scrutiny until his son had to be brought into Mungo’s ICU for his father's Dark Arts involvement.

 Morality was never cut and dry, and the Slytherins had never been the sole participants of the Dark-Art community.

 No matter how much the British wizarding community wished that to be the case.

 The Dark-Arts thrived long before the creation of the Hogwarts houses and will continue to thrive after and outside of the downfall of Slytherins and the other three houses.

 Despite surely knowing this, once all former-Slytherins were driven from their business during the first few years after the war, the Aurors drastically scaled back their crack-down on the Dark Arts in Knockturn alley.

 With what happened during the war, Draco could understand the reasoning behind the initial crackdown. But the neglect to continue with the heavy auditing after the Slytherins had been driven out was sent a clear message to the public: Slytherins and its former members were not welcome into the British wizarding space.

 It had never been about cracking down on Dark-Arts in England, it had been to force out individuals that the public no longer wanted to acknowledge as part of their community.

 The irony of Draco’s job was not lost on him.

 Before Draco could dwell any further in his own thoughts, however, he heard a soft _pop!_ by the fire and turned just in time to see Harry’s face peer hesitantly out at him from the floo.

 “Malfoy?” he asked, apparently confused by how Draco was spreadeagled on the hearth. “Are you alright? Is something wrong?”

 With groan, Draco reluctantly pushed himself up and into a more guest-appropriate position, waving lazily in Potter’s direction.

 He had given Harry his Floo address when he had been first assigned as Pansy’s contact person on the chance anything ever happened or if there was urgent information that Harry could share, but given the Auror’s current lack of urgency, he doubted that was the case.

 “Is Pansy alright?”  He asked anyways, not bothering to move any more than he already had. If the Gryffindor wanted a proper welcoming, he could look for it somewhere else.

 “She’s fine. That’s not why I dropped by. Are _you_ alright?”

 Draco blinked, thrown by the question.“I’m fine. We had an emergency so I ended up staying overtime, I’m a bit tired, that’s all”

 Harry stared at him intently for a moment, bright emerald eyes shifting hues under the flames of the floo as they flicked up to the clock behind Draco and back again.

 “You’re telling me you just got of work? When was the last time you ate?” He demanded abruptly.

 Draco watched confusedly as a scowl started to form on the Auror’s face.

 Whatever he had thought Potter was here for, his eating habits had not been one of them.

 “Yes?” He said haltingly, “I got caught up in an urgent case at work, a child had come into contact with a cursed objects and needed Dark Arts reversals.”

 “Did you eat?” Harry asked again, ignoring the answer and focusing on Draco’s evasion.

 Draco averted his eyes.

 “I didn’t have time. Plus, it slipped my mind since I had more urgent matters that I had to attend to.”

 He carefully avoided the explicit admission that the last time he had eaten was the breakfast he and Potter had shared that morning. With the way Potter’s face darkened at his response however, the Gryffindor clearly noticed.

 He groaned internally at Harry’s expression. He was far too tired to be lectured right now but it looked like he was about to get just that.

 “I’m coming over.” Harry said shortly, before pulling his head back and disappearing from Draco’s floo.

 Before Draco could even process what had happened, he re-appeared, this time scrambling out of his fireplace with something in his hands. Draco watched quietly as the Auror dusted off his deep-red robes before straightening up. Harry clearly had had a late night of working himself, if the clothes and ink smudge on his chin were any indication.

 Draco’s hands itched to rub at the ink spot.

 He clenched his hands.

 “Where’s your kitchen?” Harry asked, peering down nonchalantly at Draco, as if his presence in Draco’s apartment was a perfectly common occurrence.

 Draco stared. This wasn’t what he had been expecting when he had finally floo’d back to his apartment from Mungo’s.

 “Weren’t you going to lecture me?” He questioned, staring rather helplessly at the green eyes that were currently pinning him to the floor. Draco’s gaze flicked to the item in his hand, recognizing it to be one of Harry’s more favoured cooking pots at the safe-house.

 Was he planning to cook? If he was then he was in for a disappointing surprise. Draco’s fridge contained a single tub of hummus, approximately three sticks of carrot and a bottle of iced-coffee that was at least a week old.

 With his schedule, Draco often opted for grabbing a quick bite before and after work at the restaurants along the way as opposed to cooking at home.

 Harry blinked back down owlishly at him.

 “Lecture? No,” he said, having the _audacity_ to sound mildly surprised.

 “As much as I want to, I wasn’t going to lecture you about how taking care of yourself is just as important as taking care of your patients, and how as a healer you should know better than anyone why neglecting your health won’t do you any favours.”

 Harry took a deep breath, visibly preventing himself from saying anymore on the topic, and despite himself, Draco felt his lips twitch.

So he had wanted to lecture him after all.

 “Where is your kitchen?” The Gryffindor asked, glancing around the dimly lit space. Since Draco had collapsed immediately after arriving, he hadn’t cast any _lumos_ spells and the only current light came from the floo itself. “ Ron was at the safe-house all day today and I had been planning to make us all dinner. Since you didn’t pop by after eight I figured you were busy and saved you some of tonight's dinner since I had a feeling you wouldn’t have eaten properly.”

 “You brought me food?” Draco repeated faint, feeling fairly wrong-footed in this entire conversation.

 Harry shrugged, ducking his head slightly.

 “It’s leftovers at this point but I hope you like Shepherds pie.”

 Harry had bought him _food._ Harry had made dinner and specifically left a portion for _Draco._ Harry cared enough that he had probably checked and waited for Draco to get home before bringing over dinner over when hearing he hadn’t eaten.

 “Malfoy?” Harry asked, squirming slightly in the silence. Draco jolted at his name, scrambling to stand up.

 “The kitchens that way,” He told him, pointing behind the Auror. “Will Pansy be alright with you gone?”

 Draco trailed quietly after Harry and watched as the other man set the pan pot on his kitchen table.

 “She’ll be fine,” Harry reassured, waving a careless hand at his cupboards and sending a plate to fly out and land neatly next to the uncovered, steaming pot. Draco’s mouth watered at the smell as it wafted towards him. “Ron’s still there, he fell asleep after working on his cases and I didn’t have the heart to wake him.”

 Harry handed over the plate, fingers brushing against his own and sending a quick shiver up Draco’s spine at the casual touch.

 “Thank you,” he murmured, accepting the food. He hesitated briefly, before forcing himself to ground out, “Harry.”

 He could feel himself flushing scarlet, a deep red that crept up his neck and burned his cheeks. He could feel Harry, freeze. Could feel the Auror’s gaze pinning him in down as Draco stubbornly stared down at the piping hot plate in his hands.

 “Draco.” Harry called softly, slowly stepping closer until he could feel the heat emitting off the Gryffindor. Draco took a sharp breathe, flinching almost imperceptibly when the other man reached his hand out to almost-but-not-quite cradle his chin. “Draco, look at me?”

 Clenching the plate tightly, Draco slowly obliged, tilting his head back up until it was level with Harry’s gaze. They were standing far too close to pass off as friendly. From here, Draco could see the soft creases of smile lines at the edges of Harry’s mouth, could see the darkening shade of green that Harry’s eyes took on as they stared silently at each other, neither daring to address the sudden shift in the room.

 Draco willed himself not to tremble when Harry’s fingers brushed softly against his chin, skimming up his jawline.

 Draco willed himself to stay still, pride and anxiety rooting him to place while the remainder of his brain-cells that were still functioning insisted that nuzzling into the heated palm laying softly on his face would be a fantastic idea.

 Harry let out a gentle sigh.

 “Eat your dinner,” Harry told him, murmuring the words as if afraid to be overheard. “You'll have to tell me about your case tonight and how it was but for now, you’re exhausted and need your rest.”

 Draco could only nod dumbly along to the instructions, brain refusing function any more than it had already had, whether from exhaustion or the sheer disbelief of tonight's events he didn’t know. Harry broke the stare first, stepping back and away from Draco who could still feel a lingering touch on his face.

 “I’ll see you tomorrow,” said Harry as he began making his way out of the kitchen and, Draco presumed, back to the safe-house. Right before he stepped out of view however, the Auror paused, turning briefly to throw a gentle smile back at him.

 “Goodnight Draco.” He said before leaving Draco standing alone in the kitchen, still clutching at the plate of shepherd's pie Harry had saved him from tonight's dinner. Distantly, he heard the floo roar to life as Harry barked out the address of Pany’s safe-house before silence descended once again into his surroundings.

 “Goodnight.” He responded, to his now empty apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI GUYS! It's been a while. I'm so sorry it took so long to get this chapter up and I'm afraid that my schedule for the following months are going to be just as erratic. I graduated university in May and went on a abroad as like a graduation gift and now I'm finally back but I'm packing to move across the States because I'm going to be going to law school in a few weeks! So ALOT is happening and life is super hectic right now but I'm going to keep posting whenever I can! I'm determined to finish this fic properly and I have so much love for these two! I hope you enjoyed this chapter and let me know your thoughts! I've been focusing alot on relationship building between Draco and Harry so far but the next few chapters are going to get super plot heavy before I FINALLY can change the ratings! lolol


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